A Series of Extra Scenes: Reichenbach
by LittlePippin76
Summary: A series of extra little bits that I've daydreamed about to fit in between the televised bits. Not worth reading if you haven't seen Reichenbach, and definitely don't read if you're avoiding spoilers!
1. Tell him, won't you?

**I want to do an extra scene series for each of the six episodes, based on fun extra bits that I've daydreamed about (see my Scandal and Hounds stories to see what I mean). I've run into difficulties with each of the other four.**

**My problem with Reichenbach is the tone. It's a very beautiful and dark episode, which is a long way from my writing style. While I'm happy to inject elements of humour in the other ones, it would feel slightly wrong to do so here.**

**I do have a couple of ideas, though, if you can handle the slightly angsty feel of it.**

* * *

_Moriarty wanted Sherlock destroyed, right? And you have given him the perfect ammunition._

_John, I'm sorry._

_Oh, please._

_Tell him, would you?_

Mycroft watched as John walked away down the corridor.

"Tell him," he said again, quietly. He retrieved his phone from his breast pocket.

"I can't," Sherlock replied. "You know that."

"You can trust him. I think you can trust him more than any other living soul."

"It's not worth the risk.

"Sherlock…"

"No, I've told you; it's too great a risk."

"Then I'll stand by your judgement in the matter."

"Good. Everything's in place, yes?"

"Yes."

"This evening then. I'll text you when."

Sherlock disconnected the call. He paced back and forth for a moment, and then sank slowly to the floor of Molly's lab. He sighed and waited.


	2. Well, I can dream

**This would follow right on from the end scene. Well, it would if I had my way.**

Well, I can dream.

John marched slowly and carefully across the graveyard. Mrs Hudson was waiting by the entrance, reading all the inscriptions on a marble statue on a family plot. His phone buzzed against his leg and he pulled it from his pocket.

There was a new text from an unknown number, and it was completely blank. He put his phone away again.

"Are you OK there, Mrs Hudson?" he asked.

She turned to him with a watery smile and nodded.

"I am, John. I think I will be soon anyway. I still worry about all his stuff though."

"No, don't worry about that," John said gently. "I promise I'll come soon, and we'll work through it together, OK? Until then, just leave it alone. It can wait. Don't even go up there."

"No, I won't," she sniffed. "It is hard to."

"Then don't." John looked out into the distance. "Mrs Hudson, I've got something I need to do now."

She glanced up at him with an unarticulated question in her face.

He shook his head.

"I'm fine, don't worry. I've just got something to do. Will you be OK getting back on your own?"

"Yes, of course. Are you sure you're all right?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine. I'm just…" he looked away again. "I'm fine."

She gazed at him for a while and then nodded and turned to the entrance of the graveyard. She walked slowly along the main road, and John watched until she was out of sight.

He turned, let out a deep breath and turned to walk further into the cemetery. There was a wide, gravel path sweeping around a short incline, and John followed it down to the side where the older graves were. There was a small chapel here, made from ancient flint, tumble-down, and replaced in recent years with a modern ecumenical building with better access and parking spaces. The old building was now used by the groundskeepers to store tools.

John walked around it once and then ducked in through the open door. It was dark and murky inside, and the air was heavy with tobacco smoke.

"So giving up didn't last long," he said. "Again."

"I'm dead, John. It seems a little late to be worrying about that now, don't you think?" Sherlock grinned. "Besides, Mycroft drove me to it. I defy you to live with him for even half a day without taking up at least cigarettes and probably strong alcohol and hard drugs too."

John grinned for just a moment before his face fell again.

"I've got to tell Mrs Hudson, Sherlock. She's dying inside."

Sherlock flicked his cigarette to the floor and stood on it. He nodded.

"Yes. Tonight."

"Good."

"You can tell her tonight."

John looked up, frowning. "Me? I can tell her? No, no, no! This was your plan, remember! You've done this, now you can fix it."

Sherlock sighed and picked at a corroding rubber handle on a lawnmower.

"It can't be at Baker Street," he said. "We're not ready for that yet."

"OK," John agreed. "I'll invite her over for dinner or something. You can come to mine."

"No."

"Fine! I'll bring her to Mycroft's."

Sherlock frowned and thought.

"Bring her to Diogenes."

John nodded.

"Fine." He looked at Sherlock up and down. "You've gained weight," he said.

Sherlock looked up with a frown.

"Thanks!"

"I'm just commenting. You'd just comment if I'd suddenly ballooned."

Sherlock looked at him shrewdly.

"I'd hardly call it ballooning! And you've lost nearly four pounds."

"Yeah, it's the grief, you know."

He grinned at Sherlock and it was returned.

"I thought the therapist was a nice touch," Sherlock said.

"Yeah. You owe me forty-five quid for that."

"Forty-five… " Sherlock was incredulous. "Her advice boils down to 'write a blog', and she charges forty-five pounds an hour? And you went back there?"

"Yeah. I thought I'd be charging it back to you anyway, so I might as well. Personally I think that you owe me an apology for doubting my acting skills."

"You haven't shed a tear yet, have you?"

"I don't need to." John returned. "I can cry convincingly enough without the waterworks."

"You should learn to do it properly."

"Nope." John shook his head emphatically.

"I could probably get a tear or two out now, if you want," Sherlock said.

"I don't." John smiled at Sherlock. "Are you OK?" he asked gently.

"No," Sherlock said quickly, a black look descending over his features. "I'm bloody bored. I loathe being stuck with Mycroft, his excellent cook aside, and the press is just…"

"Ignore the press," John said soothingly. "It'll be short lived. It'll all be explained really soon. You'll see. You told me you didn't care what they wrote anyway."

"That was before..." Sherlock started, but he slowly calmed down. He glanced at John. "How are you holding up?"

"Lots of sympathetic looks, but I'm finding it quite easy to hide away. Molly wants to talk several times an hour, but other than that I'm fine. She understands that it's not good to be seen together too much anyway."

"No." Sherlock glanced around the chapel. "I can't stay long here either."

"No."

"Mycroft will lecture me."

"Yes," there was a hint of a smile.

"It's not funny!" Sherlock protested.

"No, I know, and I am sympathetic. It's just… well, I'd like this to be over pretty soon too."

Sherlock nodded.

"Go away now," he said.

John nodded and turned back to the door.

"John?" Sherlock quietly called after him. "See you tonight?"

John nodded. "See you tonight."

Sherlock breathed out again.

"I'll send Mycroft's car so you can prep Mrs Hudson on the way."

John left, shaking his head and muttering.

"There are some things that I definitely don't miss…"


End file.
